


ever yours,

by wbtrashking



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25881787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wbtrashking/pseuds/wbtrashking
Summary: On that balmy afternoon at the lake, Sylvain thinks the accursed thought for the first time.Prince Dimitri is beautiful.Unfortunately, it will not be the last.Sylvain yearns to be by Dimitri's side, even in his second life.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 92





	ever yours,

**Author's Note:**

> i care for sylvain very much. that's it, that's the fic
> 
> enjoy! ♡♡♡

The prince has always been the quiet sort.

He’s not shy, no. Just reserved. There’s always been something soft and waifish about him, a little too tender. Of course, that’s mostly because of his looks—his long hair and light blue eyes go hand in hand with the pale skin from his many winters in the capital.

But today, he’s out at the lake with them receiving some much-needed sunshine. King Lambert and his wife, Patricia, have given Lord Fraldarius permission to take their son along to the lake shore, and he’s as beautiful and unassuming as ever.

Felix enjoys getting Dimitri riled up, though it takes some doing, because he’s not one to easily rise to the shorter boy’s challenges. However, he’s as fond of swinging his lance about as Felix is his sword, so when he offers to spar, the blonde takes him up on it.

Ingrid, on the other hand, has decided to set to the task of charming Glenn. The older Fraldarius boy could be standoffish and occasionally rude, but he was sweet on Ingrid, always patting her on the head and laughing at her silly stories.

Sylvain observes all of it before approaching. He wonders what it’s like, for Felix, to have a caring brother. For Dimitri and Ingrid, to have loving parents. His father and brother let him travel to the outskirts of Fhirdiad alone, though he’s only nine, and he plasters on a smile before joining in the festivities.

It takes effort for him to convince his old friends to jump into the water. It is especially difficult to get Dimitri to strip down to his skivvies, cheeks hot with shame. “Don’t be shy,” Sylvain says, helping him unbuckle the gauntlets he always wears, customary garments for the royal family of a country of warriors. “The water will be good for you.”

After he relaxes enough to submerge himself, he finds himself agreeing. Dimitri’s laughter is infectious as Sylvain splashes him, causing Felix to swim over and do the same. Likewise, Ingrid coerces Glenn into joining them, all five of them acting as children for the first time in ages, uncaring of propriety and rules as they enjoy the summer sunshine in the lake.

It’s a memory Sylvain looks back on fondly, later.

* * *

“Sylvain.” There’s a voice drifting through his ears lightly, so faraway that he’s convinced he’s still dreaming. “ _Sylvain_.”

He pries brown eyes open slowly, words coming out in a grumble. “Yeah?”

“You’re going to be late.” Sylvain discovers that the owner of the voice is Dorothea, his roommate. She pauses for a moment, a worried frown on her face. “Did you have a bad dream?”

With a yawn, Sylvain sits up, rubbing his eyes to find lingering moisture resting on his lashes. He offers his friend a small smile. “No. It was a good one.”

The first time he’d recalled the memories, he’d been frightened. It had been a perfectly normal day in middle school, surrounded by his friends on the soccer team and making lewd jokes about something or another. Images of war and turmoil had nearly struck him blind, crouched over to vomit all over the linoleum floor.

At the time, he’d chalked it up to a strange daydream. A passing fancy. His brother and father had been hounding him to act appropriately as the heir to a lucrative restaurant chain, disdainful of his lackadaisical attitude. They’d wanted him to chase money, to marry young, to use him.

In this life, he is not the type to submit to their whims.

Later, it becomes obvious that the _other world_ is more than something he imagined after a long day at school. Everything is too vivid, and Sylvain has never claimed to have an active imagination.

“ _Stop this_ ,” he’d said, his own voice unrecognizably deep, rife with grief as he’d pointed a spear at Ferdinand’s head. “You’ve never cared for the emperor, and my killing you would only create more grief. I ask that you yield.”

The long-haired man had shaken his head, a somber smile on his lips. “I cannot, Sir Gautier, and you know it. My betrayal would only further split the lands of Adrestia. Please, liberate me from this life.”

His eyes had welled up with tears, and his palms had grown warm with blood, thick and viscous as it traveled down the point of his weapon through the creases in his gauntlets.

 _War is such an ugly thing_ , Sylvain thinks in the present, shuddering at the recollection.

Through chance or circumstance, his friends are once again by his side. Felix is as surly as ever, though he smiles more, and his brother lives. Ingrid is still bossy and proud.

Then, there is Dimitri.

Dimitri is as beautiful as he ever was, lithe and lean and tall, even as a youth. He is broad-shouldered and warm-hearted, the soul of a king resting in him, as always. He is not so haunted, now, and his parents still live, spoiling him with endless affection.

Once Sylvain comes to terms with his terrible memories of the other world, he resolves to keep that smile on Dimitri’s face forever. He does not change, not in so recognizable a way, but he decreases the polite space between them, working tirelessly to endear himself to his old friend.

“You’re so clingy,” Felix tells him, pushing Sylvain off of his back from yet another one of his endless hugs. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” Sylvain says, rolling over so he can wrap himself around Dimitri instead. The blonde is much more forgiving of Sylvain’s odd whims, running fingers through his ginger locks without asking questions. “Nothing at all.”

* * *

The problem is this—Sylvain loves his king.

From the time they’re young, he adores Dimitri. He is kind and earnest, the best thing anyone could hope for in a country so hellbent on creating bandits and uprisings at every turn. When King Lambert dies, Sylvain lives to see his friend become rigid, wound up so tightly that he’d burst if he were poked one too many times.

Felix, however, is the one who sees the very moment he snaps.

“He was like an animal,” Felix says, trembling as he grips Sylvain’s arm, his amber eyes drifted off somewhere far away. “It was terrible.” He’s scared, of what Dimitri’s become. Of the façade of their old friend, reveling with the blood of other men seeping through his clothes.

And still, Sylvain loves him. “He’s stubborn,” the redhead muses to their then-professor. “The most stubborn person I know, really. But. Maybe he’s what Faerghus needs.”

A commander, but not a tyrant. Lambert had had enemies, hordes of them, because he’d dared to defy tradition, aiming to topple centuries of old customs with regards to crests and legislature.

The nobles had not been fond of change, to say the least, and he’d wound up dead because of political machinations, the snakes from the underground leading a country with no qualms against the crown to kill their king.

Because his family had been taken from him at such a young age, and the crest of Blaiddyd burns brighter in him than almost every one of his ancestors prior, Dimitri grows up strong. Too strong, almost.

In a way, his fierce power makes him very brittle.

Felix calls Dimitri a monster, a _boar_ , but Sylvain sees potential in Dimitri. The flicker of hope in his burning blue eyes.

* * *

Dorothea elbows him in the side with a grin. “There’s your boyfriend.”

Sylvain covers his mouth as he yawns. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Her green eyes sparkle with mirth as she flits away with a wink. “Right. Whatever you say.”

A strange set of circumstances had led them to each other in this life. Before, she had been the only woman he’d told his secrets to, marrying her for the sake of mutual convenience. She’d wanted money enough to be safe, to pursue her interests without the burden of having a child. Sylvain had wanted to continue roaming about, running errands for the crown. They had been good friends, and it had been quite joyous, infrequently sharing a bed with the smartest person he’d ever met.

Now, she is an open bisexual, searching for love in all the right places. She’s been soft on Ingrid, lately, who is flustered by Dorothea’s careful attentions. Sylvain is happy for her.

Dimitri waves when he spots Sylvain coming up to the building, a small smile on his lips. “Hello.”

Sylvain’s wholly given up on modesty by this point, bundling Dimitri up in his arms and nuzzling into the crown of his blonde hair. “S’cold outside.”

Dimitri laughs, gently squeezing Sylvain’s arm until the redhead pulls away. “You’re from the second-coldest place on the continent. It shouldn’t be anything new.” Still, he leads the way inside, the library warm and comforting once they enter the doors.

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Sylvain retorts, sighing with relief as he shrugs off his bag and his coat. Everything in him is delighted to see Dimitri like this, with two eyes and his long hair thrown up in a bun. He can’t help smiling, just drinking him in.

Eventually, Dimitri notices. “Is there something on my face?”

He shakes his head, reaching out to run his thumb over one of Dimitri’s sharp cheekbones. “No.” He’s remembering something that _isn’t there_ , a cascade of nasty old scars and the remnants of a missing eye. Dimitri didn’t have to live by the skin of his teeth, this time, from ages seventeen to twenty-two.

“Well,” Dimitri hums. “Alright then. If you say so.”

The two of them settle into their routine, Dimitri scribbling away at his notebook for something about history class while Sylvain pretends he’s doing his homework on his computer. He knows the period Dimitri’s reading about more intimately than most, about the exalted king of the revolution. The one he’s named after.

Sylvain closes his laptop and Dimitri looks up. “What would you do,” he starts, “if you were that king of legend? The first leader of the Unified Federation of Fódlan.”

Dimitri closes his eyes, lips pursed as he’s deep in thought. “I’m not sure. He seems very powerful, but his ascendancy to the throne was full of disasters. Would it be odd for me to say that I feel a connection to him? Perhaps it’s because we share the same name.”

 _A name, but not the same fate_ , Sylvain promises himself. “Just humor me, for a moment. If, after everything, after losing every family member, after being forced to kill the woman you respected the most in the world, would you still be able to see the beauty in life? Would you still look for me, for Felix and Ingrid?”

The shorter man furrowed his brow. “I—why, of course I would. My vision would be cloudy at first, I’m sure, with rage. Having everything torn out from under me might lead me to become senseless. But. If, in fact, I had such loyal retainers to keep me in check, I’m sure that I could emerge from the fog to see again.” Sheepishly, Dimitri reaches for Sylvain’s hand, nervous energy rolling off of him. “You worry me with these questions, Sylvain. Are you okay?”

Sylvain chokes back a sob, pulling Dimitri’s fingers up to his face, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. “Yes,” he whispers, breath hot on Dimitri’s palm. “Thank you.”

* * *

On the week before Dimitri is due to be married, he confesses something to Sylvain.

“The emperor is the one you gave that dagger to all those years ago,” Sylvain had exhaled heavily, slumping down in his chair with his glass of brandy nearly slipping out of his hand. “The goddess must be very cruel indeed.”

At the other side of the room, Felix snorts. “You _would_. You would have pity for her even at your darkest moments. That’s your biggest failing as a leader, you know. Your stupidly soft heart.”

Dimitri had laughed openly. Heartily. “I know.”

Sylvain picks himself up long enough to sling an arm over his liege’s shoulder. “It’s your biggest saving grace as well, your majesty. I’m proud to have a gentle king.”

Felix brusquely slaps Sylvain about the back of his head. “You’re just happy we’ve all survived this long, is what you are. I pray that you remain as vigilant in watching your back now that the war is over, Gautier. Things won’t get any easier for us in this era of peace.”

Teasingly, the redhead grins. “Easier, no. But I suspect someone has grown quite used to the joys of a relationship long before myself and the king.”

The shorter man flushes hot with embarrassment, glaring at his old friend. “Hold your tongue, Sylvain.”

Dimitri holds up his hands, smiling at both of them. “Now, now. Today is supposed to mark a happy occasion. I’m sure Sylvain is expressing his happiness for you, Felix. We’re both very pleased about your engagement with Annette. The two of you shall be wed shortly after me, and I will be the first person in attendance.”

With a huff, Felix turns up his nose, arms folded across his chest. “Yes, well. It was only a matter of time before I settled down. The roaming margrave, however, is doomed to be a spinster for the rest of his days, I’m afraid. He’s already earned the wrath of every woman on the continent.”

“Not _every_ woman,” Sylvain insists, but he doesn’t work very hard to dispel Felix’s illusions about his poor nighttime habits. “Besides, some mares are meant to be wild. Isn’t that right, your majesty?”

Though Dimitri wrinkles his nose at the title, he offers Sylvain a private smile, remembering the many times the redhead dragged him into town to flirt with girls. “Yes. I suppose you’re right. In a way, I envy you, Sylvain. You have always seemed so…free.”

Felix balks at Dimitri’s words, but Sylvain presses ever closer to his king.

He is free, yes, in a way Dimitri will never be while he sits on the throne.

But he is just as inextricably chained to the crown as Dimitri is, at the beck and call of ruler of this new nation which requires their constant attention to survive.

* * *

There is still magic in the world; wyverns and pegasus horses used for long-distance flights. More for tourism than the battlegrounds, now. Everything’s quieter, people more used to technological conveniences than swords.

And here lies Sylvain, trapped in some sort of limbo, burdened with the weight of his emotions for his friend spanning hundreds of years, a child of the modern era with vivid memories of the past.

 _Reincarnation_ , Dedue had explained to him once, in the life before. _The followers of Seiros believe in only one goddess, but the citizens of Duscur see things in other ways. By taking care of the earth, sometimes she gives back. We go on to see this world again, afterwards, if we take care of her._

Sylvain doesn’t particularly think he’d taken care of the world in his previous life, but he must have done something right—or wrong, perhaps—to come back here with so many familiar faces alongside him.

This could very well be his punishment, for all his obfuscations and deflections, before.

One afternoon at lunch, Felix kicks his chair. “If you don’t do something about your crush,” he grouses. “I’ll kill you.”

Sylvain groans. “It’s good to know you never change.”

Across from him, the brunette rolls his eyes. “Neither do you. Stupid when we were kids. Stupid now.”

The redhead laughs. “Right.” There’s a lull, for a moment, where they both pick at their food, Felix surprisingly delicate about the process. Then, Sylvain starts speaking. “Do you remember, when we were little, how we spent an afternoon at the lake?”

In this life, the moment had been much the same as it had been in the previous one, the five of them splashing in the water with careless laughter, a precious time that Sylvain thinks of with a warm smile.

Felix, too, must be fond of the day. “Yes. I remember how you put algae in my hair. It took forever for me to wash it all out. I was upset with you for weeks after that.”

Sylvain chuckles. “You punched me, I think. It hurt so badly that I was convinced you’d broken my arm.”

“Dimitri _did_ break your arm. It happened on the playground the day after our visit to the lake. When I punched you, I just made it worse.”

“That’s right.” Sylvain had nearly forgotten about that, the memory buried under all of the sad and somber thoughts of the other Sylvain’s history.

“You fell in love with him anyways,” Felix remarks, shaking his head. “The wires must be crossed in your brain.”

Sylvain closes his eyes with a hum. “You’re probably right about that.”

* * *

On that balmy afternoon at the lake, Sylvain thinks the accursed thought for the first time. _Prince Dimitri is beautiful_.

Unfortunately, it will not be the last.

In every skirt he chases, he thinks of the golden tassels hanging off of Dimitri’s shoulders. Of his shy smiles and subdued nature, how blisteringly awkward he is around women in a way Sylvain could never hope to emulate.

With every set of lips he kisses, he wonders if Dimitri has ever kissed before. If anyone has ever reached out to touch his silky blonde hair, tilted his head back, and slipped their tongue into Dimitri’s mouth.

The self-deprecating jokes tumble from his throat in droves, loathing climbing under his skin, and he knows— _inherently_ —that Dimitri is the same. That his plastered-on smile is as fake as Sylvain’s deflective flirting. He’s pleased, secretly, that Dimitri breaks from his training to come seek him out, to give him endless verbal lashings while they tend to the horses.

He marvels, later, at how Dimitri hulks through the dilapidated halls of the cathedral, _not dead_ , by some miracle, an escaped convict with the weight of years of turmoil bearing down on his back. He is vicious and cruel in a way Sylvain could never have imagined before the war. But Felix had warned him.

Dimitri _is_ a beast, well-equipped with fangs and a temper.

And somehow, Sylvain still loves him.

He loves Dimitri from a distance, while the professor wears Dimitri down like rain pelting on a rooftop, sure and steady, bringing him to rust and bend. He watches as fresh grief descends upon Dimitri with the death of Rodrigue on his hands, the man who had been as much a father to him as Lambert dying and leaving Dimitri with nothing at all remaining as a bastion of familial support.

Felix grieves too, in his way, but he is comfortable with death in a way Dimitri will never be.

When Dimitri is ready for company again, Sylvain is one of the first to approach him. “I’ve missed you,” he says, squeezing his future-king’s fingers with a smile. “It is time, your majesty, to prove to the world that you’re ready to take your rightful place.”

Dimitri’s lone blue eye had gazed down at him, flattered and confused in the same stroke. “You’ve always had such faith in me, Sylvain,” Dimitri murmurs, his voice low and raspy. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it.”

“It is because you are kind,” Sylvain replies, thumb brushing over Dimitri’s rough knuckles. “Sometimes, when kind people are hurt, they can be very cruel.”

Dimitri smiles down at him, a bittersweet little thing. “Yes. I suppose you would know.”

Sylvain does not take the comment as an insult, mostly because it is the truth.

* * *

On an icy afternoon, Sylvain reaches out and grabs Dimitri’s wrist, stopping him as they walk to the library with a rock lodged in his throat. “I love you,” he blurts out, startling both himself and the blonde with the suddenness of the declaration. “I’ve loved you for, _goddess_ , what feels like a thousand years. I’ve come through a whole other _lifetime_ to have this second chance with you, and I don’t want to wait until it’s too late for us. Again.”

Dimitri grows stiff, and then soft, turning to embrace Sylvain with wide eyes. “I was always afraid to say something, because. You’ve just—you’ve always been verbal about your appreciation for women. I was sure I was reading too much into your lack of personal space with me.”

“I do it to blend in,” Sylvain explains, leaning in and closing his eyes. “It’s second-nature, at this point, and I was scared too. If you had said you were disgusted by me, I could’ve played it off, claiming that I’m a tactile person.”

Dimitri’s mouth opens as he chuckles, tilting his head to the side as Sylvain’s fingers scrabble against his nape. “Well. I’m happy to say that I’m not disgusted, then.”

They kiss in the wintry morning wind, ignoring the giggles and whispers of passersby as the cling to each other for warmth. When Sylvain slips his tongue in, Dimitri is as delightfully surprised as he’d always hoped he would be, gripping Sylvain’s arms tightly as he presses in for _more_ , a fighter down to his center.

* * *

_It’s funny_ , Dimitri’s wife says as she balances their child on her hip. _How delighted you are to receive letters from Sreng._

He is pleased to hear from all of his friends at any time, really—from the regions belonging to Galatea, nearby, to the faraway ventures of the Lady Fraldarius in Almyra, Annette working with the citizens across the border to pass along the teachings of sorcery in the east.

But it’s special, to hear from Sylvain. He intends to be the last of his line, safe and secure in his marriage with Dorothea, and Dimitri misses him something fierce. Sylvain had never failed to make him laugh, to ease the tension from his shoulders after a long day at court, and it isn’t the same with him gone from the castle.

 _Ever yours._ Sylvain always signs his letters off like that.

 _If only that were true_ , Dimitri thinks, leaning down to kiss the queen on the cheek.

* * *

Dorothea nearly crashes into Dimitri as she locks the door to their apartment, flustered as the blonde holds out an arm to keep her from falling. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Beside her, Sylvain yawns, sidling up behind Dimitri and wrapping his hands around his waist. “See you later, Dee. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

She looks between them for a moment before smirking, flashing Sylvain a v for victory. “Well, well. Good for you. Looks like you finally got the balls to get yourself a boyfriend after all.”

He rolls his eyes, shooing her off. “Yeah, yeah. Brag all you want later.”

“Don’t be late!” She shouts, her voice echoing down the hall.

Dimitri flushes. “She’s rather supportive.”

Sylvain leans down, pressing his lips to Dimitri’s cheek. “She’s my best friend. She better be.”

And for now, this is more than enough. Being allowed to hold Dimitri’s hand, uncaring of stations or propriety. If his family disowns him, he doesn’t _care_ , because he’s already wasted too much of his time, in this life _and_ the last, caring about what other people think.

One day, he’ll tell Dimitri about the whole truth of him. He doesn’t know if Dimitri will believe him, will think he’s absurd for placing his faith in something so nebulous as reincarnation, but so long as the once-king deigns to stay with him, to hold his hand and smile, to call Sylvain his, then he doesn’t care.

This, he thinks, is more than enough, and worth every struggle it’s taken to arrive at this moment, forever destined to kiss the crown.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! ♡♡♡
> 
> →[twitter](https://twitter.com/quillifer) 💓  
> →[tumblr](http://quillifer.tumblr.com/) 💓


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